A Washed-up Movie Queen's Divorce Strategy [Rebirth] - Chapter 43

It was neither the first nor the fifteenth of the lunar month; the moon was shaped like a curved sickle, hanging crookedly on the tip of an old tree in the distance. The scattered glimmers of light filtering through the shadows of the branches were cold.

By Ming Lang’s count, it had been over twenty years since she had last drunk milk boiled by Ji Chenli’s own hands. In the muddled years following Ji Chenli’s departure, she had drifted through the days, hiring countless chefs—famous and obscure alike—spending a fortune just to buy a cup of longan and red date milk that tasted like the one from back then. But in all those years after Ji Chenli’s death, not a single person could replicate that flavor.

Just as in those years after Ji Chenli’s death, Ming Lang never again encountered anyone who bore even the slightest resemblance to her.

Initially, in Ming Lang’s heart, Ji Chenli was merely an ordinary woman, no different from the dust of the earth. Girls like that were everywhere—radiant with sunlight and full of vitality, like a flourishing young tree. But the life of this young tree was so tenacious; despite Ming Lang’s heart being a patch of frozen tundra that even a pickaxe couldn’t break, this little tree somehow managed to take root there.

Ming Lang assumed Ji Chenli was just a small tree, so she let her grow in her heart. She even thought she could provide the nutrients to let her stay there forever. Little did she know that Ji Chenli was a toxic weed that pierced through the gut. Think about it, she thought, what kind of heart would use someone’s life as a bargaining chip for negotiation? Han Xinyuan carried the weight of three lives—Ming Lang’s parents who died for her, plus Han Xinyuan herself! How did Ji Chenli dare use that for blackmail?

Ming Lang spent seven years trying to uproot this poisonous plant from her heart. She intentionally refused to look at her, listen to her, or give her nutrients. As expected, Ji Chenli withered. But then, a sense of melancholy arose in Ming Lang. Ji Chenli simply stayed in one place, half-dead and withered, no longer possessing her former spirit, yet she certainly hadn’t reached the point of dying completely. Seeing her so wilted, Ming Lang began to miss the vibrant little tree from before—the one that, given a bit of nourishment, would struggle to grow upward until she reached a place where Ming Lang could see her just by turning her head. Ming Lang thought: If only the Ji Chenli of the past could come back.

She didn’t come back. Within Ming Lang’s sight, Ji Chenli remained listless in the corner, gasping for breath. But in the soil that Ming Lang couldn’t see, Ji Chenli’s roots had already rotted. Such a plant—whether a small tree or a toxic weed—could never again grow into the shape Ming Lang desired.

During the period when Ji Chenli was hospitalized for stomach cancer, Ming Lang finally realized that this person, who had been wilted for so long, really would leave her. She began to feel a baseless terror. Whether vibrant or dying, Ji Chenli had long since grown inside Ming Lang’s heart. Her roots were buried deep; if uprooted, what would come out would surely be the bloody, shredded flesh of Ming Lang’s own heart. Ming Lang thought: Even staying wilted like this is fine. As long as the person remained, she didn’t dare ask for more. As long as she slowly started giving her nutrients from now on, she would eventually grow back one day.

Eventually.

But Ming Lang did not understand Ji Chenli’s decisiveness.

Once Ji Chenli made a silent decision in her heart, she was never half-hearted. she seemed never to consider the consequences—it was true of her marriage to Ming Lang, and it was true of her embrace of death.

Ji Chenli never even considered a seemingly “perfect and harmonious” solution like slowly regrowing into a “vibrant little tree.” When she could no longer go on living, she resolutely severed her own roots and died before Ming Lang’s eyes without a shred of concealment. It was without warning, leaving Ming Lang in shock.

Rather than slowly withering away into an ugly death, it was better to die in the most magnificent bloom while a bit of life remained. Ji Chenli died without thinking about what would happen to her remaining broken roots. Of course, she also never imagined that she truly had taken root in Ming Lang’s heart.

Then, the remnants of Ji Chenli’s roots buried in Ming Lang’s heart slowly began to rot, corroding Ming Lang’s heart along with them until it was hollow.

Day by day, Ming Lang remembered the way Ji Chenli died. The first day she was gone, the second, the third… Ming Lang began to notice every trace Ji Chenli had left in the house: the toothbrush and mouthwash cup she used daily, the towel she hung on the rack, the clothes she wore that still held her faint, dying scent, the empty bottles of Erguotou liquor she threw in the trash, and… Ji Chenli’s diaries. A whole drawer of diaries. In the outermost one, their wedding ring was tucked inside.

June 11, XXXX – Weather: Sunny

Today I’m going to marry Ming Lang, or Ming Lang is going to marry me.

I can’t wait to see Ming Lang in the wedding dress I prepared for her. She’s so beautiful; she’ll definitely be the most beautiful bride in the world.

If only our bedroom wall could hold our wedding photo—the wall right facing the headboard. Then every morning when I wake up, I could see my wife’s peerless beauty. Hee hee.

Too bad Ming Lang won’t agree to it.

July 20, XXXX – Weather: Overcast

Participated in a variety show today; my whole body feels like it’s falling apart. I wanted to stay at a nearby hotel, but I caught the midnight flight back anyway. Just in case Ming Lang comes home, she wouldn’t see me otherwise.

I haven’t seen Ming Lang for a month. I miss her.

July 30, XXXX – Weather: Stormy

It stormed all day today, but Ming Lang came back. She finally came back! So happy!

I made her a meal, but she didn’t eat a single bite. Sad.

August 1, XXXX – Weather: Showers

It’s been raining lately, and Ming Lang has been coming home every day. Does she only come home when it rains? I really wish the rain would never stop.

Today, while Ming Lang wasn’t looking, I threw a handful of salt into the dishes, but she actually ate them without saying a word! Scary! She must have hidden in the study and drunk a lot of water. Hee hee.

My Ming Lang looks so good even when she’s being a “closet pervert” (drooling).

I have to join the film crew tomorrow; I won’t be home for months. I really want to see Ming Lang every day.

January 3, XXXX – Weather: Overcast

Turns out Ming Lang has always had insomnia. A few days ago, I had the butler give her a cup of soothing milk, but today I boiled it myself. Surprisingly, she didn’t notice! Hey hey, Ming Lang is finally willing to eat what I make! Keep it up!

February 27, XXXX – Weather: Sunny

Hangover headache.

Won the Best Actress trophy yesterday. Ming Lang’s seat in the audience remained empty. She went to celebrate Han Xinyuan’s birthday. The cake was very pretty. Well, happy birthday to me.

I think there are some things I really can’t ask for.

June 11, XXXX – Weather: Overcast

I’m at the hospital. Tao Yuan is dead.

I don’t have a home anymore.

But I keep thinking—today is my wedding anniversary with Ming Lang.

Ming Lang, starting from today, I no longer have a home. Where are you?

Ji Chenli’s diary was very fragmented, recording only trivial matters, yet Ming Lang’s name was on every page. Ji Chenli’s handwriting wasn’t particularly good; her other writing was scribbled and messy, but Ming Lang’s name alone stood neat and elegant among the mess—so beautiful it didn’t look like it was written by the same person. The diary stopped abruptly six months before her death.

June 11, XXXX – Weather: Sunny

I have stomach cancer.

This page held Ji Chenli’s wedding ring. The massive diamond caught the light of the desk lamp, a brilliant radiance gathering on that single line of small text. This was the only day Ji Chenli did not mention Ming Lang’s name, and the only day where the short sentence in the diary was as neat and upright as the way she wrote Ming Lang’s name. Every page following was blank; not a single word.

A drawer full of notebooks. Six years of entries, nearly 2,200 pages, recording the entire process of Ji Chenli withering away day by day.

Ming Lang always thought about how wonderful it would be if Ji Chenli could go back to the way she was, but she never thought about who had made Ji Chenli wither like that, bit by bit.

The meals Ji Chenli made with her own hands, dumped into the trash; the wedding dress she meticulously prepared, thrown aside to gather dust; and Ji Chenli’s voice, hoarse from pleading.

Ming Lang personally pushed Ji Chenli to the edge of the cliff, even holding a knife to force her to jump, only to turn around and criticize Ji Chenli, asking why she had changed.

Ming Lang stayed in the bedroom that should have belonged to her and Ji Chenli for an entire night, reading the diary for an entire night.

The butler didn’t know what was happening inside; he only knew that muffled, hysterical sobs came from the bedroom of the “cheap daughter-in-law” in waves—as terrifying as a ghost. The butler, waking up in the middle of the night, felt a chill down his spine. He thought Ji Chenli had come back from the dead to settle accounts with the Ming family, and he shivered under his covers all night.

Later, Ming Lang moved back into that bedroom that smelled of Ji Chenli, but what was the point? Ji Chenli was dead. Even if her scent remained now, it would slowly dissipate. Ji Chenli had vanished from this world. From then on, there would never be another person who saw only Ming Lang, whose heart and eyes were full of only Ming Lang, as if born to live solely for her.

In all her life, as she ascended to the position of the head of the Ming family, her parents’ care had been given to the weak and young Ming Yan. The rest of those who revolved around her only lusted for the power of the Ming family behind her. Only that one person saw and missed Ming Lang for herself, and she was personally killed by Ming Lang’s own hand.

It wasn’t until two years after Ji Chenli died that Ming Lang suddenly had a strange premonition. She felt that Ji Chenli wasn’t dead—that Ji Chenli was still living well in some corner of the world. But she searched the entire world, seeing countless similar silhouettes, and not one was Ji Chenli.

Only then did Ming Lang realize that the woman who was as ordinary as the dust of the earth was, in fact, unique. Once lost, she could never find a replacement.